some sort of coincidence
by lejf
Summary: omega!verse: the oneshot where Harry's an Alpha and Voldemort's an Omega. HP/TR (LV) When, every now and then, Tom goes into heat when he's supposed to be fighting Harry Potter.
a/n: hey, this probably dips into explicit territory, and i really can't help it, sorry, but take it as you will.

also this is kind of cracky, don't take this too seriously, because i don't have that much time to explore the dubcon of omega!verse

also this is unedited and stuff because im too tired and ill to check it over. i know i always write 'him' instead of 'his', for one, and sdhgoiljks. just take it.

for moka-girl,

'cause she's pretty cool.

* * *

It was one thing to be an Alpha, but another thing entirely to be an _Omega._ Hogwarts didn't have a single one. As soon as they presented – like one of the older Gryffindors had the year before the last – they were whisked away. Which was really really good, actually. Honestly. Because between the three or so Alphas in the castle, Harry really didn't want to start uncontrollably rutting when he caught the aching scent of an Omega. Or having to run away because it felt like someone had locked his legs in stone and shoved a pole into his cock.

His ruts had been bad enough. They'd locked him away into the Room of Requirement, had some poor damn house elf bring him food now and then, and pretended he didn't exist. It was _incredibly_ _embarrassing._ To him, at least. But being an Alpha, people just– they didn't laugh! If he ever lost his temper, they immediately cowered and bared their necks. After being kicked around and bullied for the best of thirteen years, that just seemed downright _wrong_ to Harry, and he tried to keep his temper in check, he really did, and winced whenever people deferred because they somehow sensed his anger. Alphas were the top of the top, like Voldemort had been.

There had been a revolution relatively recently – thirty years ago, maybe? When Omega rights took the world by storm and they were placed under relatively good protection. Before then, the people with the rare trait tended to get caught on the edges of society and– well, shipped away to do terrible services for terrible people. It made Harry sick. He'd always supported Omega rights, and then he woke up one morning, trembling all over, with a knot at the base of his cock and was then given suspicious looks whenever he tried to speak up for Omegas.

(There were the Gammas too, who lived outside the hierarchy and were generally in Law Enforcement to kick Alphas into shape whenever they got rowdy.)

Either way, his status meant that not many people took the piss out of him when his name flew out the Goblet. Even Ron stopped feeling jealous, because it was "instinct to know that you're better or something, mate," and while Harry said that that thousands of levels of insanity, his friend just shrugged and said, "It's just how it is – I'm not on the same level to compete with you now. Go butt heads with Malfoy or someone."

But all that meant Harry didn't have to get slandered by the Wizarding World, actually got help and support from his friends during the tournament, and got to the Cup without even seeing Cedric. As he thudded into the cold dirt of a graveyard, he heard the distinctive cry of Peter Pettigrew. When the man tied him to a gravestone, he looked more terrified than ever.

Harry _growled_ through the gag. Pettigrew looked an instant away from shitting himself. "Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son–" the man cried, whirling away so he wouldn't have to meet the Alpha's gaze.

There was a drum building beneath Harry's skull. Like a heartbeat, war drums, the pounding of hands on a door. It crested with Pettigrew's words, with the moment when there was a blur of white, Pettigrew's scream, his hand tumbling into a caudron–

The tidal wave grew into a gaping maw that could swallow mountains.

His mind whited out – burst in a supernova and then collapsed inwards in a colossal rush like an avalanche, his world narrowing down to that point of pain, pain, pain. He lost his eyes, his hands his feet his legs his arms his lungs – couldn't _breathe –_ his hearing – _everything_ lost in that instant.

A deep gasp and the world flooded back again.

And there was Voldemort, where the mist cleared.

"Robe me," he said, and Harry's hearing was odd. Had he died and lost his senses? His eyes couldn't focus, rather, they were too _sharp_ ; he could hardly feel the stone beneath his back; and his _smell–_

Was that–

No, it couldn't be.

He was just imaging that shy little curl of scent, of warm wood and yellow light, a well-worn room–

Another sniff, and _there it was._ His pupils, if not already wide enough from the dimness of the graveyard, blew wide until there was only the faintest hem of his gem green. Omega _._ In _heat._ Through the wrong, wrong, chemicals there was an Omega who smelt like the familiarity of a cosy room, and _was the world serious, holy shit, Harry was popping one in front of Lord Voldemort and Wormtail._ Maybe Wormtail was writhing on the ground in pain, clutching his stump, but still– oh god.

He didn't know whether he was going to die from fear or mortification. Maybe both. Was this Voldemort's masterplan? Wave the scent of an Omega under Harry's nose and watch him slowly shrivel away from blood loss because it all went down to his cock? It didn't seem to be, because Voldemort was looking down at him with that scarily pale snake-face of his, eyes narrowed and serpentine, nostrils–

–flared–

– and those red eyes flashed in pure, animalistic panic. Was Harry seeing things? Lord _Voldemort_ jerked back and wrapped his black cloak tightly around himself. He was an Alpha too, right? That's what everybody said, he must've smelt the scent of the Omega too. But that was no reason for fear.

It came again, washing over Harry and it was nothing short of entrancing. He couldn't– (oh no– please no– bloody _Voldemort_ was watching, holy _shit_ )– his head tipped forwards (not back, thank god, he wouldn't be able to handle that) and right through the gag, _groaned._ His dick was like, at breaking point. There was a reason people kept Alphas and Omegas in heat apart. He'd never met one before, and it was almost as single-minded as the pain, as toe-curling. He _wanted._ Wanted to find that Omega and press them down to the floor and _inhale,_ mark with nips and long licks of his tongue–

He really didn't want to look up. Humiliation was written all over his face, his robes clearly tented and his eyes still blown wide and smokey, cheeks flushed. But he looked anyway, because he probably should see if Voldemort was coming to rip out his throat for being in his territory when there was an Omega to fight over. What a way to die. Not as a hero, like his parents, but aroused and tied up to a gravestone.

He looked up and wondered if he was hallucinating, because there was no way _Voldemort_ would've curled away from Harry like that, as if defending himself, his own pupils nearly swallowing the red of his irises. And in those eyes, written, fear fear fear.

A swirl of black robes and _crack_ and Voldemort had Disapparated without a wand. Harry could still see the shock in those red eyes. A mass murderer, newly resurrected wizard, had fled from this teenage boy tied tied to a stone.

He took a moment to process, ears filled with only the sound of his blood in his ears and Wormtail's whines of pain.

There was no way, right? No way.

Meanwhile, Harry was still tied up to this gravestone.

And frustrated.

And horny.

He must've been exuding enough pheromones to drown an unprepared Omega.

He growled, and Pettigrew's head snapped up. His body was screaming to go after the Omega, whose scent was rapidly disappearing and _no, he did not want to think about those implications,_ and he was angry and desperate and horny and in denial, and he leveled it all in a look at Pettigrew.

The man was probably still delirious from pain, stripped to his most animalistic instincts, because he scrambled to his feet and practically protrasted himself at Harry's feet, undoing the ropes, trying to escape the Alpha's displeasure.

Then Harry stormed away, grabbed the infernal Cup by its handle and was whisked away.

–––

"Voldemort's back," Harry, wrapped in his hospital bed, said to Fudge, who was a twat of an Alpha himself, and who tried to puff his chest and _defy Harry–_

"I'm sure you're mistaken–"

Merlin, Harry really hated abusing his Alpha powers, but this was too much. " _He_ _has_ _ **returned,**_ " he snarled, and Fudge immediately quailed because he was a shit Alpha and never flashed his eyes at anybody.

 _He has returned,_ _ **and**_ _he is an Omega._

But he kept that part to himself. Why? It was just too crazy to consider, and if he said it, Fudge would have him in St Mungo's for sure.

–––

The next year came around and it brought the strangest thing. The strange things being dreams. Harry's dreams. He'd see through this snake's eyes, and–

the warmth of hearth, a crackling fire, and Harry would slither across the floor, tongue darting out, and hear a hitched breath.

 _Why was this happening to him, holy shit._

Slowly, he would look upwards. The first thing that'd come to sight was a bare foot, and for some reason _that_ was lewd, this pale bare foot and shin, draped over the armrest of a golden-rimmed couch. The skin was fine, actually. Wasn't it supposed to be scaly? It looked like a normal shin, smooth, if only Harry could run his hands up and down those shoulders, mapping every languid curve–

He cut the thought before it could get too far.

Then the snake– Harry– would round the couch, and more of that skin would be revealed. Another foot, this one resting on the floor, and up and up, this leg that was nothing but smooth pale, up to where long fingers were slowly thrusting–

Well, his bedsheets were going to be utterly ruined when he woke up. Would he have to request a room change? Because he wouldn't ever get any sort of sleep ever again like this, and he might traumatise Ron.

The face that was flushed high to the cheekbones wasn't serpentine, but lush and just absolutely, absolutely, _sinfully_ perfect, framed by gentle black hair and eyelids that fluttered, an Adam's apple that bobbed with each groan. Then the eyes would open, and they would be a stormy, dark, grey, and they would look _right at Harry._

Then he'd wake up with an unpleasantly damp bed. And he'd still be horny, so he'd have to jack off again because waiting it out when it _never went down_ was embarrassing and terrible.

Harry was pretty sure he was getting driven mad. Was this Voldemort's new tactic? The visions were _real,_ too, because Mr Weasley was attacked and nearly killed and Harry had seen it all.

You know, Harry never thought he'd be good at Occlumency.

Except, apparently, when _Snape_ was trying to get into his head and Harry went full-blown Alpha, throwing his all into keeping the intruder out from seeing his Omega, his wanton Omega who was naked and shaking just for Harry.

Harry was going insane. There was no other word for it. He was going insane.

There was no reason why he felt like he was perpetually horny because of _dreams,_ and because he was wondering how he was going to defeat Voldemort when he'd just jump the wizard's bones and shag him senseless as soon as they bumped into each other. Assuming Voldemort was the man in his dreams, that was, because Harry hadn't heard anything about the Dark Lord suddenly becoming really hot.

(The man could probably glamour it away, anyway.)

So one day he saw Sirius being attacked, and he leapt onto the back of a Thestral and took to the skies alongside his friends, because evidently Snape didn't give enough of a shit.

And...

Well–

Harry would look back and wish he hadn't, because there was no Sirius, and there was a prophecy broken on the floor instead and a fight was breaking out like there was no tomorrow. Curses were flying over his head and Bellatrix was cackling, the room was all chaos as shelves tipped like slowly toppingly ships and smashed to the ground in splinters of crystals.

And, well, he'd also been yanked by some invisible force like a hand had grabbed him sharply, and was dragged into a room where the door slammed shut.

 _Then_ the smell unfolded. Harry guessed Voldemort must've had some way of suppressing his scent, because there was no way in high hell he could've missed it before – not this tantalising scent that haunted him in every dream. The room was flush with yellow and swaying light, but his eyes were for a man cloaked in black, standing in the center, the colours washing over him like the lapping sea, his eyes sharp and dark and glinting.

Harry's shoulders hit the floor in a heavy _thud_ when suddenly _warmth heat desire_ leapt onto him and surrounded him, pinned him down onto the floor and dragged his hips against Harry's in a bold move. A brush of hair against his jaw, and there were hands running all down his sides, insistently pushing at his robes. His mind filled with _Omega Omega Omega._

Harry had a few base instincts. As an Alpha: to flip his Omega over and fuck him senseless.

As a _person:_ to never, never, take an Omega who he knew didn't want it. He could smell the thick tang of a heat in the air, that tugged at him, lured him by a hook in his navel to breed and mark and mate.

It was that instinct as a person that made him grab the Omega by the shoulders and push him away, to scramble to his feet with his hand on his wand. "I'm not going to touch you," Harry managed, voice guttural and still uncomfortably hard, his eyes fixed on the Omega – Voldemort? Who was Voldemort? – who was kneeling there on the floor on his hands and knees, eyes wide and staring at Harry. "You're in heat." Omegas couldn't think clearly in heat.

Dark eyes darkened further with desire and _something_ else, but the Omega didn't seem coherent enough to speak. Instead, his arms slid forwards so his head was resting on the floor, his back still arched, and whined deep in his throat _._ He was _presenting_ to Harry, for fuck's sake.

"No," Harry choked out, and all he wanted to do was lunge forwards and tear those robes open, to where he could smell the salty sweet scent of slick because his Omega was ready and wanting–

No, he wasn't wanting. He wasn't. "I'm won't–" Not like this, he wanted to say, but he took a shaky step forwards because he _wanted so much._

Not like this, shit, not like this.

In a blinding spark of lucidity, he tore himself away, to the door, which his back hit harshly. With his eyes still trained on the Omega, he tried to scrabble for the handle. He felt the cool metal, felt it beneath his shaking fingers, but it wouldn't turn. Let him out. Let him out before he did something he'd regret.

"Let me go," he breathed, still entranced by those dark eyes looking up at him, and he put his full Alpha weight behind the words. "Let me _go!"_

He fell out into the circular room as the door flew open behind him. The fresh air brought clarity in a sharp relief but he could still feel the lure, pulling him back into the room, and _shit, how about the fight outside? How about his friends?_ Were they–

The blow came out of nowhere and he was sent reeling, pain exploding behind his eyes in a burst of red. A hand fisted in his robes and slammed him against the wall.

Opened his eyes; stared into a masked face and heard the other man give a growl. The sound ran down his spine. An _Alpha._ And Harry's Omega was still in the other room, on the floor, in heat, his skin tinged with a blush, eyes filled with desire.

His head split open with pain as it was smashed again against the wall again, and his body crumpled to the floor when the Alpha released him.

Red. Red.

God, it hurt.

The world was swimming and Harry couldn't breathe. Saw the heavy boots stomping away into the room with his Omega– his heat-addled Omega–

The human portion of his mind was blanked out by the Alpha.

He lurched to his feet, feeling blood run down his face. Whoever touched his Omega was going to pay. No one would see his Omega but _him. No one._ The magic built under his skin in a steady roar and a growl bubbled in his throat.

The contesting Alpha was kneeling above his Omega, tearing his black robes to shreds to taste that smooth skin, and his Omega writhed to get away, get away from the Alpha's dirty touch–

No one touched his Omega but him.

His magic _screamed;_ it was a shadow that loomed behind him, writhing and lashing. Harry's eyes burned bright as his power surged, coalesced to a point, and then came hurtling down, rushing, like a torpedo, and shattered the ground right by the Alpha in a spray of marble.

That masked face jerked up to calculate Harry.

" _He's mine,"_ Harry snarled, and his magic flared in response. "Stay _away._ " His blood was drying on his cheek.

Slowly, with loathing, the contesting Alpha slinked away, and Harry was in his Omega's side in a flash, wrapping him up in his arms as well as he could, trying to Conjure something to cover up his Omega, keep him safe, because Harry was too injured and exhausted to breed him now but he'd still have to make sure nobody else touched his Omega.

The scent of the heat was fading and Harry was only distantly puzzled at the oddity of his Omega's heat patterns.

Harry let his guard fall as the door shut behind the other Alpha, slumping over his Omega with a protective arm keeping them close.

"Idiot," the Omega said, his robes torn around him like black wings, and some part of Harry stirred at hearing his low voice, "You think I've been chasing your sleep for the last _year_ in delirium?"

"S'not right to jump you," Harry muttered, tucking his chin over the head of his Omega, who he thought might've been scowling.

Very purposefully, the Omega tilted his neck until it was bared for a bite, and Harry's heart paused, his mind slowly coming back. This Omega wanted Harry to mark him?

"Wait– you're–"

"Tom," his Omega said, and Harry's face split in a slow smile.

"Tom," Harry tasted the word and it was right and it was perfect and wow, Harry had been wrong the whole time! It wasn't Voldemort at all! It was _Tom._

He fell asleep with his disgruntled Tom cradled in his arms, still smiling.

And when he woke up again Tom was gone.

–––

Dumbledore might've been slightly puzzled when Harry's head hit the desk, the Pensieve still swirling grey beside them.

Of course it was Voldemort.

–––

Harry tried to ignore the fact that he'd protected and snuggled Voldemort, he really did, but he kept catching phantom whiffs of that smell that he attributed to _his._

And _instantly_ popping one. Holy shit.

Dumbledore had said that Snape reported nothing out of the usual, even. Voldemort disappeared spontaneously for long periods of time, yes, but his insane, evil-driven campaign continued.

Harry wondered if he'd hallucinated the whole thing.

–––

That year Harry dragged himself into a court case.

For an Omega.

He was the _one_ and _only_ Alpha on the defendant's side, and the others of his kind looked down from the prosecution's, their high raised seats, and the Omega in his glass box in the center of the court never really stood a chance.

Harry told himself, hands fisted in his robes, that he didn't see Tom when the Omega was dragged away.

–––

Dumbledore tumbled off the tower and Snape dragged a white-faced Malfoy after him, leaving Harry under the cloak with the night sky crumbling bit by bit, star by star.

He hadn't dreamed for a long while, and he'd already forgotten the smell of a sun-filled room, ink, and worn leather covers.

And every day he'd wanted it back.

–––

What horcruxes? There were none, absolutely none, none none none, no locket no cup, no diadem no ring. Nothing at all. Hermione and Ron had long abandoned him and Harry was left alone staring at the stars and wondering where he'd gone wrong. Snatchers and Death Eaters were chasing him all across the continent, and it was as though his face was plastered onto every wall.

The Boy-Who-Lived became a myth; he drifted along the edges like a wraith, crushed heavy with defeat. He lived under the cloak, and even the owls never found him.

He heard that the Weasleys, the Lovegoods, had been sieged and captured, held in the Malfoy Manor. He itched to go and save them, but _couldn't_ , because he was hopeless, wasn't he? Couldn't even find Voldemort's treasures.

But he couldn't stay away when Voldemort attacked Hogwarts.

People's faces lit with hope, some with disappointment, when he appeared on the battlefield, his robes dirty and worn and the light in his eyes gone out. He'd found the Sorting Hat, gotten the Sword in his hands and was prepared to take a final stand.

What a sad way to end, with his friends dying all around him. At least he could end their suffering, stop them from dying today to live on to a darker future. At least he could destroy _one_ Horcrux.

The clearing was dark, the trees a familiar scent to him as sticks and stones crunched under his shoes.

"Ah," a voice said, a silhouette against the faintest moonlight, "finally come, Harry Potter? I've been waiting."

Why was there nobody else around?

"Of course I've come," Harry said, holding his head high as he stepped out from the trees.

He watched as the visage of a snake _melted,_ the white scaly skin pooling into the ground like running water. Before him stood a familiar face. One that haunted his nightmares on the loneliest nights.

"Not ' _of course',"_ Tom– Voldemort said, "if I knew attacking Hogwarts was what would've drawn you out from hiding, I would've done it far sooner."

Where was Nagini? Where was the snake– the other Horcrux?

"Looking for something?" Voldemort asked, and then he was _right there_ in front of Harry, an elegant hand reaching out to touch Harry's cheek.

The Sword came up in a flash to press against that pale throat. Just a flick of his wrist, and it would split open with blood.

Voldemort didn't seemed deterred. He tilted his head instead, to bare his neck further, and Harry's chest – traitorously – hitched. "Whatever you think you're doing," Harry said hoarsely, "isn't going to work."

"My dear, foolish, Alpha," Voldemort said silkily, and _shit,_ Harry's heart jumped again, because he was _his_ Alpha– "I've been hunting you down under the guise of _killing_ you for the better half of years. No– what I 'think I'm doing' is bringing you back for a long-overdue _fuck_."

Hearing that tongue curl around the coarse word definitely made _some_ part of Harry leap to attention.

"Now," Tom said, after dropping that bomb on Harry, "are you going to continue gaping or can we–"

"Excuse _me_ -" Harry protested, "but how was I supposed to know all this time you were just looking for a shag? And what exactly happened to your Horcruxes? I've been looking for them everywhere _._ "

"I reabsorbed them after my second heat–"

"Your _second_ heat _?_ " Harry echoed, "wait– second _ever?_ "

"Yes," Tom said, impatience growing, "now, if you would–"

"Wait wait wait, hold up," Harry said, "you've– you've been on _suppressants?_ "

"You'd _think_ you would've realised this – considering it's widely accepted that the Dark Lord is an Alpha – and that my heats have been so erratic." As if to make up for the embarrassment of being an Alpha, Tom jutted up his chin.

"But suppressants and Alpha pheromones are illegal, and they–" Harry began.

Untested chemicals, expensive and dangerous, withered minds and destroyed bodies.

"As I well know," Tom snapped, and Harry fell silent. The clearing was otherwise silent, and Harry felt a bit like he had messed it all up.

Tentatively, he started again. "Sorry, I didn't mean– well, I'm just trying to be your Alpha and look after you."

"Some Alpha you are. _Apologising._ "

Harry paused, and then he grabbed Tom's arm, pulled the man to him, and Apparated to one of his favourite spots, on the shores of a crystalline lake. "That's fine," he said lowly as they appeared, Tom looking slightly surprised, "I can take a lead."

The moon was high overhead.

"Romantic," Tom commented dryly as Harry pushed him down into the grass, shedding his cloak.

"Are you telling me you want to do this in a bed?" Harry asked, leaning over him and admiring the way Tom's skin caught the light, working on the buttons of Tom's shirt.

"No," Tom said instantly, and Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Whatever you want," Harry replied. Then he leaned in, hands coming up to hold Tom's face, and sunk into a deep kiss. As he pulled away, Tom chased his lips and ended up burying his face in the crook of Harry's shoulder, legs coming up to intertwine with Harry's.

He could smell Tom now, and it swirled in his head like a cocktail. Soon enough, Harry had a fully naked Omega in his lap, lips red from kissing, and was making a beeline for his cock when Tom froze. Harry could smell it, his distress, loud and clear, and nuzzled Tom in response.

Tom's throat worked silently. "I–" he began, but Harry cut him off.

"It's okay," he soothed, "it's okay, we won't do anything more than this today." His Omega gave a miniscule nod, and then Harry resumed, laving his attention all over Tom, holding him tight and scenting him to let the world know

 _This one is mine._

They'd shag some other day, but not right then, under the moon on the shores of a starry lake,

and when Harry would ask, "Why me?" Tom would infuriatingly say, "You have the best cock," and dodge the question each and every time, until finally Harry would realise why: not because Tom was only ever in heat when Harry was around, but because he held Tom tight and called him Tom, not Omega, not _thing,_ and walked away even when his body was screaming because Tom couldn't say yes, and because he'd stop and smile instead of snarl when sometimes Tom talked back because he forgot he wasn't still a chemically twisted Alpha–

because Harry could take Tom's hands, Tom's blood-stained hands, his hands coated in darkness, his hands filled with nothing, and tell him he was made of light.

* * *

a/n: i just used up all my description in the graveyard i was going to use for third time's omg

anyway.

this oneshot ends here but there is still tom's perspective that i'll upload sometime. but i'll warn for it now: this oneshot was relatively lighthearted, minus the time where harry's like blareagh what do i do with my life, but

 _tom's pov will not be light-hearted._ everything ever involving tom pov needs to come with a huge warning label. _for good reason._

what happens can already be inferred from harry's pov, but seriously, if you just read this because you thought haha, how would someone flip tom and harry around in the alpha omega roles, it'll be funny, _tom's pov is not amusing at all._ bear that in mind.

but thank you all for reading!


End file.
